


every time i see your face

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Secret Relationship, allison is a bamf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King and Queen Archuleta throw a ball for their eldest son’s birthday in the hopes of finding him a match. Prince David already has someone in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every time i see your face

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, writing unicorn prince!Archie made me want more royalty au. This is basically porn with a sprinkling of plot, and it’s nothing but one cliché after another. Seriously, cliché city – population: this fic. It’s also equal parts fluff and smut and not much else. (But it was damn fun to write?) Enjoy!

The castle was in an uproar, servants and nobles alike scrambling to finalize preparations for the Prince’s name day celebration. A ball was to be held in honor of the momentous occasion, and the guest list for such an event included royalty from kingdoms far and wide.  
  
No one had yet to mention it (at least, not in the Prince’s presence), but the grandeur of the celebration was due in part to the Archuleta heir’s noticeable lack of an engagement. Prince David was of prime marrying age, after all, and suffered from no lack of admirers. The Kingdom of Murray was small, but beautiful, the land plentiful and rich, and it was wholeheartedly agreed that Prince David would be a just and caring ruler once he ascended to the throne.  
  
He was a kind, courteous, handsome youth of twenty-four, bright-eyed and intelligent, with a voice that could send even the most stalwart, hard-hearted folk to their knees. He had a penchant for singing at all hours: as he readied himself for the day, while he traversed the castle corridors, even while he enjoyed his daily ride around the castle grounds. His smile was always sweet and sincere, his manners impeccable, and he lacked the arrogance and snobbery typical of other young nobles.  
  
Yes, Prince David was quite the prize, and any Prince or Princess would be thrilled to have his hand in marriage. The Prince had only to open his eyes to the possibility.  
  
And so, in a fit of genius, the Prince’s parents – the King and Queen Archuleta – constructed a plan to once and for all obtain a match for their beloved eldest son. They would invite eligible Princes and Princesses from the neighboring kingdoms to David’s name day celebration, in the hopes that the Prince would meet and eventually choose to wed one of them.  
  
No one thought to inform the Prince himself of this, of course, though the sheer scale of the celebration should have been suspicious in its own right.  
  
(Prince David didn’t bother to inform his mother and father that he knew precisely what they had planned, for reasons that he preferred to keep to himself.)  
  
He seemed quite amenable to the rather lengthy guest list, in fact, and even made a point to ask his mother if one Princess in particular – Princess Allison – would be attending.  
  
At first the Queen had been a bit… well, concerned. Lady Allison of the Iraheta family was a lovely girl, of course, but she was a little… wild. Queen Lupe still remembered her boisterous voice and fiery red hair from the last celebration the Princess had attended, and it was difficult to imagine her exuberant personality meshing well with the soft-spoken, mild-mannered Prince.  
  
Still, any interest shown by her son was to be commemorated, so Queen Lupe sent out the invite to the Iraheta family with a smile on her face and hope blooming in her heart. Perhaps, she thought, the year would end with an engagement after all!  
  
  
  
Prince David waited anxiously atop his horse as the caravan carrying Princess Allison and her convoy appeared on the horizon. His mother had sent him off with a secretive smile that morning, telling him to give her regards to the Princess, and though David had shook his head at her and told her he would deliver her greeting, it had been difficult to restrain his grin. He knew his mother would take his glee to mean something that it did not.  
  
Excitement coursed through his blood, set his heart to racing, and it was difficult to stay his horse instead of running ahead to meet the party traveling slowly towards him. If he were alone he might have given into his desire to urge Little Sparrow into a gallop, but with his circle of knights around him, David knew such forward behavior would reach his mother’s ears in no time. He couldn’t risk it.  
  
As the caravan drew within hearing distance, David saw one of his knights raise the banner bearing his family crest, and he drew in a deep, somewhat calming breath as they rode to meet the party.  
  
“Prince David!” Princess Allison was leaning out of the window of her carriage, her striking hair a blaze of red in the early morning sun as she waved at him. He could hear her mother’s frantic, “Allison!” from inside the carriage, and suppressed a grin as he drew his horse up along its side.  
  
“Welcome, Princess,” he said courteously, inclining his head in greeting.  
  
Allison rolled her eyes at the stilted greeting, propping her chin up on her hand as she regarded him. “Hello to you too, Prince,” she returned, winking jauntily, and David’s answering laugh was pure and heartfelt.  
  
“How was your journey?” David asked, tilting his head. Behind him he could hear the horses of the Iraheta family knights, along with the muffled conversation of the knights, and he curled his hands tight around Little Sparrow’s reins.  
  
Allison raised an eyebrow at the gesture; of course she had seen it. “Oh, it was wonderful,” she said, her eyes twinkling. She was teasing him, he knew, and enjoying it. “I’ll tell you all about it once we reach the castle. I think my dear lady mother will have words with me if I don’t return to my seat.” She shot him a playful grin before ducking back inside the carriage, and David caught a burst of Queen Iraheta’s irritated grumbling before the window latched shut.  
  
He drew in a breath before intentionally slowing his horse, allowing Little Sparrow to ease into the formation of the knights bringing up the rear of the caravan. He inclined his head at the men and women, some he didn’t know but others he recognized – Lady Carly, Sir Castro, Sir Allen. Finally he found himself trotting alongside the last knight, a man with russet hair and a ready grin, his mouth framed by stubble a darker shade than his hair.  
  
Prince David tilted his head, his smile soft. “Sir Cook,” he said, glancing at the man from beneath his lashes.  
  
“Just Cook, Prince David,” the knight gently chided. “We’ve been over this, I think.”  
  
David laughed. “Many times,” he agreed, and then, softly. “It’s good to see you again, Cook. I’m – I’m glad you could make it.”  
  
Cook’s smile softened. “I wouldn’t have missed such a momentous occasion,” he murmured. His voice was low, like he was sharing a secret.  
  
David’s cheeks burned, and Cook’s low laughter in response only served to make him flush a darker shade of red. “You’re teasing me,” he accused.  
  
Cook glanced at their companions, all of them seemingly involved in conversations of their own, and carefully reached over to splay his hand on David’s knee. Even through his clothes, the warmth of Cook’s palm felt like a heated brand.  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cook said, his voice a little rough. He pulled his hand away after a moment, curling his fingers once more around his horse’s reins, yet his warmth lingered, and David swallowed audibly as they continued toward the castle gates.  
  
  
  
His name day celebrations would not truly commence until tomorrow, when the ball would take place, yet a marvelous feast was laid out that night in his honor. Already the dining chamber was full with their many guests, and more would be arriving come morning. David felt a little overwhelmed by it all; there were so many people, noblemen and women, knights and servants and companions from so many kingdoms, all there for him, and though his status as Prince had always garnered him a great deal of attention, David had never felt entirely comfortable with it.  
  
It didn’t help that quite a few Princes and Princesses had already approached him, giving him their best wishes on his name day and extracting promises that he would share a dance with them at tomorrow’s ball. David was too polite to refuse, and he dreaded the coming celebration, wishing that his parents were not so intent on using the ball as a means to find him a match. He would be able to enjoy himself more if he didn’t have to worry about fending off the advances of eager paramours.  
  
He had seen little of Princess Allison or her convoy after they had arrived at the castle. They had been whisked away to their designated wing of the castle, the Princess slapping David’s shoulder and announcing that she had the honor of the first dance come tomorrow, to the detriment of her mother the Queen Iraheta.  
  
“You are far too forward,” David had heard her scolding, leading her daughter away by the arm, but his humor at Allison’s answering snort had dissipated entirely in the wake of Cook’s searing gaze, just before the knight had vanished with the others after their Princess.  
  
Sitting at the head of the table now, David couldn’t help but seek out the knight. Cook was sitting farther down on the left-hand side with the other men and women of his station; David could see him conversing with Carly, and the Prince watched the way his mouth formed around his words, the way his throat moved as he swallowed his wine.  
  
Seeming to sense the Prince’s gaze on him, Cook glanced up at the head of the table, catching David’s eye. The Prince swallowed, his throat dry as their gazes held, and his face flared as Cook’s lips curled into a smile, his lips wet with wine and shining in the candlelight.  
  
“David?”  
  
David jumped, jerking his head to the side to see his mother looking at him expectantly.  
  
“Um, yes! I mean, yes, Mother?” he asked, fumbling for his water goblet and wrapping his fingers around it to hide the way his hands were shaking.  
  
“I was saying that perhaps Princess Allison would like to join you in a walk around the grounds after dinner.” His mother’s eyes were practically sparkling, and David suppressed a sigh.  
  
“Of course, Mother,” he acquiesced, taking a long sip of water and glancing surreptitiously at Cook from over the rim of his goblet. His blood warmed as he found the knight staring unabashedly back.  
  
  
  
The night air was crisp and cold on his skin, his nose and cheeks pinking in the chill, yet David made no move to return to the warmth of the castle. He had seen Princess Allison to her rooms after their walk, the bulk of which consisted of her teasing grins and innuendo (“You were looking particularly peckish at dinner, Prince David. Was what you desired not on the menu?”) and his own increasingly flustered responses.  
  
He was glad to get a few moments to himself, away from the chaos of guests and his well-meaning but insistent parents. The stables were practically deserted at this time of night, just a few stable hands around to check on the horses before retiring for the evening. David took to putting Little Sparrow away for the night himself, brushing her glossy brown coat and crooning gently into her ear, soft strains of music that helped to put both her and himself at ease.  
  
He was smoothing a blanket down over her back when the sound of hoofbeats echoed behind him. He turned toward the entrance to the stables and caught his breath as Cook galloped inside, his horse tossing its head and kicking up dirt beneath its hooves as they slowed to a stop.  
  
Cook’s eyes warmed as they landed on the Prince. “Prince David,” he greeted, dismounting from his steed and leading him gently by the reins towards the open paddock beside Little Sparrow. The horses nickered softly at each other in greeting.  
  
“Cook,” David returned, closing the gate behind him as he left Little Sparrow’s paddock. She huffed softly at him, and he pressed his palm to her nose, grateful for the small distraction. “Did you enjoy your ride?” He kept his back to the knight as he spoke; it was easier to talk to Cook when David wasn’t actively looking at him.  
  
“I did.” David could hear Cook freeing his horse of its saddle and bridle, could see the knight moving from the corner of his eye. “And you, Prince David? Did you enjoy your walk with the Princess?” Cook’s tone was light and teasing, and David sighed, unable to contain the smile curling at his lips.  
  
“It was… interesting,” he said, turning to face the knight. “As all of my encounters with Princess Allison inevitably are.”  
  
Cook threw back his head and laughed, a full-bodied burst of sound that drew the gazes of the lingering farm hands and suffused David’s face with warmth. He had always loved the knight’s laughter, how his eyes crinkled in the corners and his wide shoulders shook with the force of his mirth.  
  
David cleared his throat, his palms tingling as Cook’s gaze settled warmly on him. “I was on my way back to my chambers,” he said softly, his boots shifting along the ground as he turned. “Would you – would you see me to my door, Sir Cook?”  
  
Cook’s eyes flashed, and David withheld the urge to shiver beneath the weight of the man’s gaze. “It would be my pleasure, David,” he said, low enough so that only David could hear, and the Prince drew in a sharp gasp at the lack of a title, unable to reply with anything but a jerky nod.  
  
He waited anxiously while Cook finished setting his horse down for the night, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth as his eyes followed Cook’s hands, sure and firm and strong-looking as they brushed his horse and tossed a blanket over the stallion’s glossy back.  
  
He kept his distance as they both left the stable, Cook calling out a goodnight to the remaining stage hands before they stepped out into the night. They didn’t speak as they walked across the grounds, only the sound of their boots over the grass audible in the cold night air, but as soon as they cleared the lantern light illuminating the stables, David felt Cook’s hand slide firmly against the dip of his back.  
  
The knight didn’t say anything, didn’t glance in David’s direction, but the heat of his palm against David’s spine spoke volumes on its own.  
  
It was a promise, David knew, of  _more_.  
  
  
  
The door had barely shut before Cook’s hands were wrapped in David’s shirt, pushing him against the wall and pressing their mouths together. David moaned, twisting one hand in Cook’s shirt and spearing his fingers in Cook’s hair. The kiss was sloppy and unrefined, fueled by desperation, but oh, it was perfect, and Cook’s hands slipping under David’s shirt, his callused fingertips digging into David’s skin, was even more so.  
  
“Too long,” Cook was murmuring, pressing rough kisses to David’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. “ _Fuck_ , David, it’s been too long.”  
  
David whimpered, unable to speak, and curled his hands around Cook’s scruffy cheeks so that he could guide their lips back together. He nipped at Cook’s plush bottom lip, pulling at his shirt, wanting to feel skin. His desperation made him clumsy, and it took more than a few tries to yank Cook’s shirt from the waistband of his trousers.  
  
Cook’s hands were huge, hot brands against David’s back; the knight’s fingers gripped his sides, dipped down low over his hips and thighs, and, after a series of frantic, searching kisses that left David breathless and panting, gripped his ass and hefted him off the ground.  
  
David yelped, wrapping his legs around Cook’s waist and groaning as their groins pressed together, the heat of Cook’s arousal pressed so intimately against his own. He barely noticed as Cook carried him toward the bed, too busy pressing scattered kisses to Cook’s neck and jaw, sucking a bruise into the long line of his throat. Cook’s gravelly curses were music to David’s ears.  
  
Cook cradled the back of David’s head as he pressed the Prince into the blankets, pulling back only long enough to rid them both of their shirts and tossing them to the floor before falling back to David’s mouth. David clutched weakly at Cook’s shoulders as the knight’s tongue slipped into his mouth, tangling wetly with his own, sucking on the plump pink muscle until David was writhing helplessly beneath him.  
  
Cook’s skin was like a furnace; he smelled of leather and horse and sweat, and the bulk of his body pinning David’s to the bed was maddening, overwhelming after so long without it. He raked the blunt edge of his nails down the broad span of Cook’s back, feeling the edges of old scars catching on his fingertips and the muscles moving fluidly beneath Cook’s skin.  
  
Cook grunted, his hips snapping forward, and David threw his head back with a ragged gasp as their groins brushed together, the friction unbearable even through their clothes. Cook was panting, mouthing at David’s collarbone, his chest, tonguing one nipple and then another in-between biting kisses and harsh, rough exhalations of David’s name.  
  
“Please, please.” David was nearly delirious with pleasure, his hips rocking against Cook’s and his hands buried in the knight’s hair, crying out as Cook wrapped his lips around a nipple and  _sucked_. He was so close, heat pooling in his belly and groin, and he nearly sobbed as Cook pulled away.  
  
“Shhh,” Cook soothed, stilling their hips, waiting until David’s hazy eyes landed on him. “I’ve got you,” he said, soft, running a hand through David’s hair while they caught their breath. “I’ve got you, David.” He pressed his lips to David’s crown. “I’ll give you what you need, my Prince.”  
  
David whimpered. The way Cook said  _my_  was nothing like what David was used to hearing – from his subjects, from his people. There was a possessive bite to the word when it came from Cook’s lips, and David’s fingers clenched against Cook’s lower back, pushing at the slightly sweaty skin, wanting to pull the knight back down.  
  
Cook slipped off of the bed before David could try, his heated gaze sweeping over David’s body, from the patches of red skin at his neck and along his chest left behind by Cook’s beard, to the hard points of his nipples, wet from Cook’s mouth and aching in the cool air, to the bulge straining in his trousers.  
  
“What is it you would ask of me, my Prince?” Cook rumbled, reaching for David’s boot. He tugged the laces loose, running his hands up David’s calf before pulling it free. It landed on the floor with a muted thump.  
  
David groaned, half in pleasure at the gentle, teasing sweep of Cook’s warm palms along his leg, and half in exasperation. Cook had always loved making David say the words.  
  
“You know what I want,” he gasped, and Cook paused in the act of taking off his other boot. David resisted the urge to kick at the man. “Cook,  _please_.”  
  
His other boot hit the floor, but Cook made no move to continue, merely running his palms up David’s calves, over his knees and outer thighs, without once moving closer to where David truly desired his touch. “Please what?” Cook asked, his lips curled into the half-smirk that never failed to raise David’s ire. “You need only ask it of me, my Prince. You know that I’ll give you whatever it is you desire.”  
  
A frustrated moan ripped itself from David’s throat. He clenched his fingers in the bedding, glaring up at Cook. “I want  _you_ ,” he gritted out, and then, because he couldn’t help it, “Please, Cook.”  
  
Cook’s eyes darkened. “As you wish, my Prince,” he rasped, and reached for the band of David’s trousers.  
  
By the time he had slid the pants down David’s legs and rid him of his small clothes as well, David was nearly writhing against the sheets, the cool air against his heated flesh nearly overwhelming. He watched with hooded eyes as Cook rid himself of his remaining clothes, taking in the knight’s thick, strong thighs, the auburn hair along his chest and stomach and groin. His cock jutted from a patch of auburn curls, bobbing thickly against his belly, and David sucked his lower lip into his mouth as his eyes followed the vein curling along the side of the shaft, the heavy, moist head, the bead of precome shining wetly at the tip.  
  
Cook reached beneath the bed, his smirk triumphant as his hand closed around the jar of oil they’d hidden there long ago, and as he climbed back onto the bed and settled over David, the Prince leaned up to meet him, wrapping his arms around Cook’s neck and sealing their mouths together.  
  
Cook’s tongue writhed along his in a heated dance, curling against the roof of his mouth and sweeping over the flat line of David’s teeth as they kissed. Their cocks brushed, David letting out a ragged breath at the electric sensation, mewling as Cook’s fingers trailed over his stomach, the tops of his thighs, over the wet head of his cock. They disappeared for a moment, returning seconds later slick and coated with oil, and David obligingly spread his legs, his thighs splaying open as Cook’s fingers trailed feather light over his balls, pressing between the hot cleft of his cheeks and rubbing, slowly, over the puckered skin of his entrance.  
  
“ _O-oh_ ,” David moaned, falling back to the bed, his eyes closed as he relished in the sensation of Cook’s rough, callused fingertip pressing against his hole, pressing  _in_. He canted his hips, seeking more, and nearly sobbed as Cook pressed forward, slowly, steadily, until David could feel the knight’s palm pressed against his ass. He twisted one hand in the bedding, curling the other around Cook’s arm, and fought to hold on against the rising tide of desire and arousal that was quickly rushing toward him, threatening to pull him under.  
  
“Easy, easy,” Cook crooned, his own breath coming out in harsh pants he drew his finger out, pressing back in with a second. David’s back arched off the bed, his mouth open in a soundless gasp. His thighs were already aching from being spread so far; it was a searing, pleasurable burn, though, rather than a painful one, and he welcomed it, sought it out, fucking himself back onto Cook’s fingers even as Cook pulled away, added a third, and pressed back inside after adding another generous coating of oil.  
  
“Yes, yes, oh,” David babbled, breathless, his voice hoarse as Cook continued to stretch him, thrusting his fingers in and out of David’s hole until the Prince was nearly incoherent with pleasure. He made a high, keening sound as Cook pulled away, frustrated tears brimming in his eyes and his feet scrabbling at the bedding, calming only when Cook settled back between his thighs, lifting David’s legs until they were curled over his shoulders, his heels resting against Cook’s upper back.  
  
“David, David,” Cook was crooning softly, running his palms over David’s thighs, his heaving chest. “David, look at me.”  
  
David opened his eyes, seeking Cook’s gaze, his heart pounding at the love and devotion he saw there. He reached up to curl his hands around Cook’s cheeks, holding the older man’s gaze as he guided himself to David’s entrance, slipping inside inch by slow, tortuous inch. David’s lips parted around a gasp, his back arching off the bed, and yet he kept his eyes open, breathing hard as Cook moved forward, until his balls were pressed against David’s ass, his cock buried inside.  
  
It had been months since they had been together, months of no contact other than the secret missives they would send to one another. Having Cook here, having him so close like this, as close as he could possibly be, was overwhelming. Tears stung David’s eyes; he felt too full, of happiness, of love for this man, of everything that he was feeling. It was deep, it was a little terrifying, but it was sweet, too, and good, and David marveled once again at how they had gotten to this point, from the first tenuous days of their friendship, back when Princess Allison had first taken to visiting Murray, to now, years later, when Cook had become his most trusted companion, the person whom David felt closest too, and the man that he loved.  
  
And now, feeling that man moving within him, returning his thrusts as pleasure coiled throughout David’s body, set his blood to racing – it was indescribable. David was lost to the heat, the bunching of Cook’s muscles as he plunged into David’s body, the hoarse, harsh grunts spilling from the older man as they moved together. His cock brushed against the plane of Cook’s stomach with each thrust, smearing cum onto his skin, the friction pushing him further and further toward the edge of some perilous cliff. David couldn’t suppress his moans even if he tried, and he hoped no wayward servants or knights – or worse, his  _mother_  – happened to pass his chamber door while he and Cook were locked so intimately together.  
  
All thoughts of anyone else scattered in the wake of a particularly powerful thrust; David’s mouth fell open in a soundless scream, a hoarse whimper escaping his lips as Cook continued to snap his hips forward.  
  
“C-Cook,” he gasped, digging his nails into the knight’s shoulder blades. “I’m – ah! – c-close –  _mm_!”  
  
Cook’s hand wrapping around his leaking cock stole the breath from his lungs; David threw his head back as Cook stroked him in time with his thrusts, his fingers spreading precome down the length of David’s shaft. His thighs were burning, his stomach clenching with each thrust, and Cook’s calluses catching on his cock, the older man’s fingers slipping around the moist, swollen head, all combined to send David careening into an explosive climax that filled his vision with stars. He sobbed as his back bowed off the bed, come spurting between their bodies, coating David’s stomach and Cook’s hand and the bedding below them.  
  
David gripped Cook’s shoulders as the older man continued to move within him, plunging deep as he chased his pleasure, encouraged by David’s breathless cries and the sensation of his muscles clenching around Cook’s cock with each thrust. Within moments Cook was following the Prince over the edge, the sight of his face twisted in pleasure, his teeth biting into his bottom lip and his eyes clenched shut, enough to send a bolt of lust through David, his soft, spent cock twitching between their bodies.  
  
They collapsed into a sweaty, trembling heap atop the bedding, both of them breathing hard. Cook slipped from his body, curling around David, his chest pressed to the younger man’s back and his stubble scratching lightly against the Prince’s crown.  
  
“Missed you,” he murmured breathlessly, his skin burning to the touch as he wrapped an arm around David’s waist.  
  
David didn’t have the breath to speak, drawing in lungfuls of the slightly stale, sweaty air, but he curled his hands around Cook’s arm, sated and sleepy and content, and Cook knew he felt the same.  
  
  
  
The ball was everything that David had been dreading – noblemen and women pushing their unwed sons and daughters in his direction, a seemingly endless line of men and women asking for a dance. Allison had made good on her promise and taken the first dance as her own, and had spent the entirety of the waltz asking him how his night had passed and whether or not he had seen any “rougish, wayward knights” after he had escorted her back to her chambers.  
  
His only consolation was that Cook was there, too. He received his own fair share of dance offers, from both men and women of noble station and beyond, and David tried not to stare as Cook dipped a pretty blonde noble or cleverly spun a handsome Duke across the dance floor.  
  
Occasionally they would catch eyes, their gazes holding, sparking. Each time he found himself caught in that dark gaze, David would remember the night before, feeling all of the aches and pains in his body anew, the bruises in the shape of fingerprints aching along his hips and thighs, his backside twinging each time he twisted his hips. He knew Cook was remembering it, too, could see the proof of it in the knight’s somewhat stilted movements, the way he rubbed at his shoulder when he thought no one was looking, where David’s nails had crafted deep half-moon imprints into his flesh while Cook pounded ruthlessly into him.  
  
The memories assailed him – Cook opening him up so sweetly, so thoroughly, the way it had felt when Cook guided himself inside, how full David had been, burning from the inside out as Cook began to thrust, the wet sounds of their coupling mingling with Cook’s hoarse cries and David’s own breathy moans and whimpers.  
  
He remembered how Cook had curled up behind him afterward, pressing soothing, fleeting kisses to David’s shoulders and the back of his neck, how quickly Cook had swelled against his backside after they had caught their breath, curling his fingers inside David’s hole. It had ached, and David had still been sensitive after their frantic coupling, but he had pushed back, moaning encouragement until Cook had covered himself once more with oil and pressed back inside. It had been different, then, from their first encounter, slow and sweet rather than rushed and desperate. David had never even had to move, had let Cook guide his hips, plunging David back onto his cock again and again while David moaned breathily into the hot air, tilting his head back to catch Cook’s mouth in a kiss that was more a sharing of breath than anything else, messy and deep but so, so good. David’s toes had curled against the bedding, sweat coating both of their bodies as they writhed against each other, and Cook had circled him loosely, the head of David’s cock popping wetly through the ring of his fingers with each slow, searching thrust, and everything – the feeling of Cook pressing so deeply inside, the wet mat of his hair against David’s skin each time he plunged inside, the  _sounds_  he’d made, thick, hoarse groans and low, breathy exhalations of David’s name as their pleasure reached its peak, had sent David reeling into another climax, thick ropes of come shooting across the bedding and wringing an exhausted cry from his throat.  
  
Cook had followed shortly after, burying his face against David’s neck and groaning his release against the Prince’s sweaty skin. They had remained pressed together, Cook growing soft inside the warmth of David’s body, for what felt like hours afterward, sharing tender, lingering kisses as their breathing calmed and their pulses eased.  
  
It was the memory of those tender caresses, above all else, which brought a feverish flush to David’s skin. He politely excused himself from his latest dance partner, claiming fatigue, and made his way out onto the open balcony.  
  
He breathed in the cool, crisp air, letting his breath out in a sigh. The balcony was deserted, the sounds of the celebration at his back, and David moved further away from the open ballroom, until he was out of sight of his numerous guests and would-be paramours.  
  
“Feeling fatigued, your Highness?” Cook’s warm voice washed over him, and David welcomed the rush of affection that filled him at the sound.  
  
“Something like that,” David replied, glancing at the knight as he leaned over the balcony, resting his folded arms on the railing. Cook was a little sweaty from dancing, his eyes bright and mischievous, dressed in fine clothes befitting his station, deep blues and blacks, his shirt open at the neck and revealing the many necklaces he favored. “You?”  
  
“Pleasantly exhausted,” replied the knight, winking, and David choked out a burst of laughter, nudging Cook’s shoulder with his own. “Have any of these fine men and women caught the eye of our young Prince?” Cook continued, glancing at David out of the corner of his eye.  
  
The Prince shook his head, nudging Cook’s shoulder again and tilting his head down, until they were close, sharing space. “You know the answer to that,” he said softly, and, after a moment, “I’d already made my choice long ago.”  
  
Cook’s teasing grin faded into a soft, affectionate smile. David could see the moisture glinting in his eyes. “Is that so?” the knight asked, moving closer, his breath warm against David’s lips. “And does your intended return your affections?”  
  
David pressed his hand against Cook’s cheek, ran his fingers through the knight’s stubble. “He does,” he whispered. There was no doubt in his voice.  
  
Not even a beat of silence passed before Cook echoed him, his lips soft around the words, “He does,” before they sought out David’s mouth. They kissed in the light of the waning moon, laughter and music and a chorus of voices raised in jubilation echoing at their backs, and Cook’s voice ringing like a bell in his heart, singing, “He does, he does,” over and over again.  
  
  
  
The festivities lasted well into the night and on into the next day, but soon the guests began to take their leave, caravans housing foreign Princes and Princesses setting out for their own kingdoms, all with fond farewells and well wishes but without the promise of an engagement to carry them home. No one seemed terribly upset about the apparent failure of the matchmaking scheme, too full of good wine and food and sleepily content by the festive atmosphere still lingering over the Kingdom of Murray to cause a fuss about the Prince’s continued unwed status. There would be other balls, after all, and still more opportunities for some lucky man or maiden to catch the Prince’s favor.  
  
Princess Allison and her convoy took their leave last of all. David followed the caravan on horseback, long enough to see them safely across Murray and well into the neighboring kingdom. No one thought to question why the Prince only spent a handful of moments riding alongside the Princess’ carriage, or why he chose to stick close to Sir Cook’s side, the two of them engaged in hushed conversation and companionable silence.  
  
David watched the caravan until it was out of sight over the border of the neighboring kingdom, his heart full and heavy as he tracked Cook’s strong back and wide shoulders until they were no longer in sight. Cook had passed a gloved hand softly over David’s cheek in a rare moment of weakness, unnoticed by his companions, and David kept the knight’s whispered, “Until we meet again, my Prince,” tucked close to his chest as he returned to the castle, keeping the promise near in preparation for the long days and nights to come.  
  
  
  
Which is why he was so surprised (pleasantly so) when Cook returned a sparse three days later, sweat and dirt marring his face and his saddlebags fit to bursting.  
  
David stood by his mother as she received the knight, her own brow knitted with confusion as she took the missive he handed to her, wrapped in a red ribbon and sealed with the sigil of the Iraheta house.  
  
Her eyes grew progressively wider as she took in whatever message graced the page, and eventually David lost the fight against his burning curiosity.  
  
“Mother, what is it?” he asked, trying surreptitiously to glance over her shoulder in order to read the flowing script printed across the page.  
  
His mother ignored him, glancing at the knight waiting patiently for her regard. “You agreed to this?” she asked curiously, tilting her head in much the same way that David did in moments of confusion.  
  
Cook nodded. “I did, my Queen,” he said, and David jumped, zeroing in on the title with barely bated breath.  
  
Queen Lupe smiled, her dark eyes warm and welcoming, and tucked the missive away. “Welcome to the Kingdom of Murray, Sir Cook,” she said. She shot a lingering glance between her son, who had yet to tear his gaze from the weary, dirtied knight, to the man himself, who was far too busy grinning unabashedly at David to notice much of anything else. “I trust you will make a suitable guard for the eldest Prince, hmm?”  
  
Both young men jumped – though, Lupe noticed, only her son looked the slightest bit guilty.  
  
Cook bowed low, his russet hair gleaming auburn in the sunlight drifting into the throne room. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he said lowly, and she knew without a doubt that he meant every word he was speaking to her. “I will guard the young Prince with my life, for as long as he has need of me.”  
  
Lupe glanced at her son, hiding a smile behind her hand at his besotted expression. How, she wondered fondly, had she missed this?  
  
“Very good,” she chirped, clapping her hands together. “Now, David, why don’t you see Sir Cook to his rooms, hm? He must be weary after such a long journey.”  
  
“Oh! Yes, um. Right.” David bowed, made as if to move forward, and then doubled back to her side, pressing a fleeting kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, Mother,” he whispered, smiling sunnily at her, and then took the stairs to Cook’s side.  
  
She watched them go, smiling, and left to go find her dear husband. They had a few things to discuss.  
  
  
  
The missive read as follows:  
  
 _Dearest Queen Lupe,  
  
I wish to gift David with the service of one of my most trusted knights. Sir David Cook is trustworthy, loyal, and would make a fine addition to David’s Royal Guard. The Cook family is well-known and respected, and I can assure you that Sir Cook is a paragon of all knightly virtues, chivalrous and stalwart, courteous and brave.  
  
I have it on good authority – my own – that David has long known and admired Sir Cook, and in return, that Sir Cook finds the young Prince just as worthy of admiration and adoration as any young, eligible Prince or Princess you would choose to match with your beloved eldest son.  
  
Please give David my regards and best wishes!  
  
(Also, tell him that he should discuss a certain Very Important Matter with you, as I’m sure you would be not only very amenable to the idea but also relieved because of it.)  
  
Yours Truly,  
Princess Allison_


End file.
